


Again and Again and Never and Always

by PraenomenSobriquet



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: But Mostly Hurt, Death But Not Really, Drowning, Even if they failed, Family Issues, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Inferi, It Gets Worse, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, It actually is sort of like things were always bad, Kreacher was the house elf, Non-Linear Narrative, POV Regulus Black, Passively suicidal thoughts, Regulus Black Deserves Better, Regulus Black Dies, Regulus Black-centric, Regulus didn’t actually destroy the hurcrux, Regulus gets hugged like once and it is a big deal for him, Regulus is the younger brother of Sirius black, Sort Of, Suicidal Thoughts, This whole thing is weird but it should make sense, Time Loop, and he doesn’t know where on his timeline he actually is, and he is constantly experiencing all of it, at least they tried, but as time goes on awareness of how bad things are increases, but he’s also alive, but in all honesty, but in case you forgot, but only sort of, he definitely low-key wants to die, he gave it to a house elf who also didn’t destroy it, he is dead and alive and he hates it, he tried to destroy one of the horcruxes after Voldemort left Kreacher for dead, he was a death eater and then he died, if you’re here you probably already know what happens to regulus, in things like defeating powerful dark wizards it’s the thought that counts, its more like Regulus is aware of what happens in his life, just read the story, like he dies or he is dead or something, ok it’s not very low-key but he doesn’t really admit it to himself, so he is dead and alive at the same time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:45:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21880894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PraenomenSobriquet/pseuds/PraenomenSobriquet
Summary: Regulus has the knowledge of what will happen in every moment of his life. This fixes nothing and is not without consequences....In other words, Regulus can see all of his past, present, and future, but doesn’t know which is which.
Relationships: Regulus Black & Kreacher, Regulus Black & Sirius Black
Comments: 33
Kudos: 204





	Again and Again and Never and Always

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: suicidal thoughts, drowning, the main character is slapped by their parent, the main character dies
> 
> If you notice a warning that is missing, tell me and I’ll add it

Regulus thinks he always knows how he dies. He probably knows it before he knows what death is, if there was a time before that. It stays with him always, the fundamental truth it is. 

He can’t advert or change his death either. Well, maybe he might be able to, but it wouldn’t be the best. His survival would create more problems than it would solve, unlike his death. 

He knows what mistakes to avoid too, this time.

This time, he thinks to himself mockingly.

As if there was even a time before him. As if this a redo. 

He’s just aware, that’s the worst part. This isn’t time travel, it’s not anything but knowing. 

It’s the knowing that traps in him a cruel, unrelenting present.

* * *

He does not betray the Dark Lord for Sirius.

(The sting of abandonment is strong when he look at Sirius, thinks about Sirius. He loves his brother, but sometimes when Regulus looks at him he sees only the way he walks away from their childhood home, never looking back to see what he's leaving behind. The feelings of hate and love coexist to the point that Regulus wonders why he even tries to understand what goes on with him.)

He does not betray the Dark Lord for his own personal morals.

(Regulus has done things he does not agree with, and he continues. _Right and wrong are such unrealistic concepts in a world where their meaning is constantly revisited by the current victors, _he thinks,_ and he is not the one who will choose the meanings. _He is not so foolish as to actually believe that his own limited perspective and influence can control such imagined constructs such as morality.)

He betrays the Dark Lord, Lord Voldemort, the _Flight of Death_ for a house elf.

How ashamed his mother would be if she finds out. She won't though, because he is gone and Kreacher is sworn to secrecy and the only thing left of him is a note signed RAB.

Kreacher is the reason he betrays Voldemort because while his family ties are strong, Kreacher is the one person he can depend on and Voldemort left him for dead. 

He hopes his proof of betrayal, his proof of what he has done so maybe one day, Voldemort will be destroyed, is found by the Dark Lord himself. 

* * *

The problem with the past, present, and future is that knowing all of them stops him from telling where he is on the timeline sometimes. It’s difficult, getting lost in a time that hasn’t happened yet, or a present that seems like it’s yet to be. The worst, Regulus thinks, is to get lost in the past. 

He is six, he is three, he is seven, he is seventeen, he is eleven, he is thirteen, he is twelve, he is fifteen, he is eighteen, he is gone.

* * *

It’s the problem with knowing to much. It’s stops him to having assurances that he would if he didn’t know. 

He is living all of his timelines all the time, and it’s so difficult to tell where he is. He doesn’t know anymore, so he just goes along with it. 

* * *

He is six, but he’s not only six.

“Regulus is very strange,” his cousin Andromeda tells his mother, “but he is so polite and well-behaved. He’s just so quiet.”

(Her picture is burned off of the family. He realises when he walks into the room for a book. She’s a blood traitor to his family, but right now, when he is six, she doesn’t even know Ted Tonks.)

  
Sirius glares at her, and says “Reggie isn’t strange, he’s perfect.”

It's a lie, Regulus knows. He knows it like he knows that Sirius will hate him, and wonder how he ever thought such as ridiculous thought as Regulus being perfect.

Regulus feels hurt about something that, to Sirius, hasn’t happened yet. Sirius doesn’t know what he will say, he doesn’t know about the hatred that twists his facial features as he calls James more of a brother to him that Regulus ever was, is, or will be.

He doesn’t know, but Regulus does, and he’s hurt and angry and sad and feels so much, but he’s six, and shouldn’t even be able to comprehend everything that is happening, but he does. 

He is six, he is three, he is seven, he is seventeen, he is eleven, he is thirteen, he is twelve, he is fifteen, he is eighteen, he is gone.

He hugs Sirius and whispers a quiet “thank you” when his mother and Aunt Andromeda leave because he is selfish. 

He doesn’t deserve it, but he takes comfort in the feeling of protection he gets from Sirius. 

He is six, but not.

He is more.

He is six, he is three, he is seven, he is seventeen, he is eleven, he is thirteen, he is twelve, he is fifteen, he is eighteen, he is gone.

* * *

It’s stupid.

It’s so very stupid but as he gets dragged down into to murky waters he feels a small amount of hope. Maybe this is it. Maybe it will all just stop.

He watches the bubbles from his last breaths rise.

What his last breaths would be if he lived in a linear timeline.

He breaths, he is nine.

He is drowning, and he’s not fighting but he is. 

He is fighting, in some way. He’s hoping and trying desperately for here to be in this moment. 

He’s not fighting those pulling him into the water, but he fighting the magic keeping him. Or, he’s imagining fighting it. 

It’s useless and stupid and the problem with disappointment is that without hoping for something one can’t be let down so he’s so stupid.

It’s not even that he wants to die. He might not have a particularly high attachment to living, but he doesn’t long for death. 

He just wants to be free. He wants to be out of this endless loop, these endless moments. He wants to escape being every age, living every second, not knowing where he is.

He watches the bubbles rise. 

* * *

He is three. 

He is young, so young, and he is fawned over.

His parents love him, or at least they’re happy with him and feel the obligatory love that parents feel. 

They love the way Regulus makes them feel like good parents, who care about their child and are doing a good job to raise him, and that’s enough.

He is quiet, and does not scream and cry like Sirius, even though he is younger.

Sirius loves him.

He plays with Sirius and calls him “Siri” and Sirius loves him, or at least he loves the attention and that’s enough.

His cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, they all love him. 

Or, they love some aspect of him, and it’s enough. 

They don’t know, of course, that’s he’s not just three, and the reason he is so flawless is that this moment is his past, present, and future.

He knows how to act, he knows how he should have acted, he knows what is programmed into his DNA through millions of years of evolution.

He is six, he is three, he is seven, he is seventeen, he is eleven, he is thirteen, he is twelve, he is fifteen, he is eighteen, he is gone.

It’s so much, but he is three and they love him.

It’s enough.

* * *

Sirius does not get along with Kreacher, but Regulus does. 

Kreacher tells him of house elf magic, and Regulus is amazed. It takes a lot of amaze him, but Kreacher succeeds. 

The Dark Lord, Voldemort, Tom Riddle, the man who he dies trying to stop does not have much power, compared to the other forces acting on Regulus.

There is a magic, some strange magic, and the magic might be old and it might be new. The magic that acts on Regulus is powerful, and it is filled with knowledge.

Something makes Regulus think that the amount of power the magic has on him is unprecedented.

It’s an overwhelming force and he can tell no one about it. 

The girl, her magic is similar but it’s not the same. It’s not as harsh, it’s not as open, it’s not as revealing.

She sees and she is but she is not blinded by her knowledge.

His knowledge blinds him. His magic, because yes, the magic acting on him is his, is unrelenting to him. His immortal mortality traps him.

To his knowledge, there is no escape, so he keeps trying to move forward.

He lives in a hamster wheel.

* * *

A line is defined by two points but it contains an infinity of them. 

There are an infinity of points between the numbers one and two. There is an infinity of points between the numbers one hundred and one thousand.

He lives for eighteen years and he lives for an infinity of moments. 

They’re all infinities, made up of an uncountable number of points. They fill different spaces, but they are indescribable together.

Solidarity can be found.

* * *

He is seven, and his mother is yelling.

He already knows what’s going to happen, and the dialogue flashes through his head before it’s said.

He knows it all by heart now. 

_You are being a bad influence on Regulus._

“You are a bad influence on Regulus!” His mother shouts so loudly he can hear it from the two stories above.

_Disappointment to the family._

It’s quieter for a little while, and then his mother’s shrill voice can be heard again. Only four words can be heard, but they’re very clear.

“Disappointment to the family!”

Regulus scowls, and goes to his room to draw.

At fifteen, his whole life is drawn out, frame by frame, captions and everything. He gives it to Kreacher and asks him to remember. 

He is seven but his drawings look like they’re from someone much older and much younger and someone his age. 

It’s a strange state he lives in. 

He is six, he is three, he is seven, he is seventeen, he is eleven, he is thirteen, he is twelve, he is fifteen, he is eighteen, he is gone.

The scratch of the quill against the page and his breathing are the sounds that follow him as he lives the night.

* * *

He starts The Project at four, with the help of Kreacher. 

Most of the time, though, they don’t call it The Project. They don’t call it anything.

The drawings are only verbally mentioned three times. 

Some things should not be spoken about.

* * *

Bella hates her laugh. She hates her laugh when she is young, but when she is older, when Regulus is older, she loves it.

“There is a power,” she explains, “in being able to scare others.”

He gets it. 

She’s taking control in what ways she can. She pledges loyalty to Voldemort and it’s her choice to do so. 

She is expected to join, but she is not expected to rise as quickly as she does in the ranks. She is not expected to become stronger. 

Her laugh is louder, crueler, higher pitched. Bellatrix Lestrange scares people, and she loves it. 

She loves the freedom she gets, she loves the Dark Lord, she loves who she becomes.

In swearing loyalty to something that isn’t her parents, in being more loyal to that something, someone, than them, there is her rebellion.

They all rebel, in one way or another. They all defy who they are meant to be. 

Bella hates her laugh after it makes one of the younger children in the family cry. Bellatrix Lestrange laughs proudly, as loud as she can, as she ruthless slaughters. 

She scares Regulus, but not in the way he thinks she is supposed to.

He understands her, and the worst part of knowing how much she enjoys what she does is that in another timeline, he could be her.

He could become as merciless and dedicated. He could be one of the Dark Lord’s most loyal followers.

He would give up so much to try to get some form of control back from Hypermnesia.

Regulus wonders, in some small, dark corner of his brain that if the reason Bellatrix scares him so much is that he thinks he would become her if he thought it would help him.

_No,_ he thinks, _I’m not that selfish. I would try to do what’s right for those I care about._

It feels like a lie, but he doesn’t want it to be.

_Who could be more important to you than yourself? _

Regulus ignores his whispering mind, already knowing the answer. It’s his family that’s more important. 

* * *

He is seventeen and Sirius hates him.

Sirius hates him for being a death eater, hates him for staying loyal to their parents, hates him for not being loud enough, brave enough, rebellious enough. 

It’s obvious, and Regulus gets told in so many ways it just becomes another fundamental truth. 

Sirius tells him by glaring at him across the hall, by loudly telling Remus that he hates everyone in his family when he knows that Regulus is there, telling Peter that all Slytherins become evil eventually when he doesn’t realize that Regulus is in the hallway with them. Sometimes, Sirius even tells him to his face. Regulus wishes he’s surprised, but he’s not. 

He draws out the fights in intricate detail at over a year before Sirius says the words that are written on pieces of paper in Kreacher’s cupboard.

“I know you joined,” Sirius tells him when Regulus is finally cornered by him. 

“Okay,” Regulus says, and it’s the best thing he can say. Nothing will make Sirius happy in this conversation and it’s best to get out with minimal damage.

“Why the fuck did you join? Think of you’re doing! Why don’t you ever question your parents? I thought you were at least smarter than that,” Sirius says, and it’s laughable, so Regulus laughs. 

He’s stuck in an endless loop of the present, and he doesn’t care and he does and he is smart, perfect grades, an excess of recommendation letters, and a seat in Slug Club to prove it. 

He is slapped again and again and he is drowned again and again and he is hugged again and again and he is gone always.

It’s again and again and always and he laughs.

It scares Sirius, he can tell, from looking over the moment on paper with Kreacher and seeing in his eyes, now, the subconscious move Sirius makes into a fighting position, hand clenched on his wand. 

There’s a muggle actor, Charlie Chaplin, who one said, “Life is a tragedy when seen in close-up, but a comedy in long-shot.”

Regulus thinks it’s fitting as he laughs.

“You really have gone insane,” Sirius mutters.

“Our parents, Sirius, they’re our parents. And I’m the one who doesn’t think of the consequences? Siri, you left. You left me with them and you didn’t look back. I have to do what I can, and the fact that I didn’t have a choice is on you.”

Sirius looks like he has been slapped, but he hasn’t. Regulus is slapped and being slapped and was slapped and the handprint of Walburga Black is on his left cheek for a month because of a spell that ensures slow healing again and again and never and always. 

Sirius also looks angry and it covers the hurt so well that Sirius probably doesn’t even see it but Regulus does, even though the anger is so prominent and powerful. Regulus guesses he deserves that.

“Having our parents doesn’t give you an excuse to be a death eater,” Sirius says, “you’re disgusting. James is more of a brother to me than your murderous self.” 

“I’m not a murderer,” Regulus says, and Sirius turns from where he started to walk away.

Regulus is jealous of Sirius for his ability to have a past tense. More than anything, Regulus just wants to have a past and future but he does not. He is trapped as Sirius and everyone else move through the flow of time.

“What?” Sirius asks, even though what Regulus said was very clear.

Regulus pulls back his sleeve to show the tattoo. “You hate me for this, you hate me for not hating our parents, I get it. But I’m not a murderer. I die with no blood in my hands but my own.”

The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black didn’t say “blood on hands” when speaking of the hands of a murderer. It was “blood in hands” because they believed that when someone kills someone else, the victim becomes a part of the killer, blood absorbed into the body through the hands.

Didn’t. Past tense. They don’t do that anymore.

It’s morbid, but Regulus, who is always being dragged to his death by animated corpses, doesn’t care. 

He is six, he is three, he is seven, he is seventeen, he is eleven, he is thirteen, he is twelve, he is fifteen, he is eighteen, he is gone.

He is downing, again and again and always.

It’s the last conversation he and Sirius have.

At least, in Sirius’ timeline.

* * *

Regulus likes uncommon words. They remind him of something indescribable with his vocabulary, but he seeks to expand the already expanded anyways.

His mother, for a reason different than his own, approves. He tries to tell her that he’s not doing this to sound smarter and insult the others but she’s a philodox (someone with an excessively high interest in their own opinions) sometimes.

Of course, she would cavil if he ever informs her of this, so he doesn’t.

* * *

“Regulus is such a nice boy,” someone whispers, “but his eyes are so old.”

* * *

The water, pressing down on him from above, is what kills him in the end. Flooding his lungs as the air leaves him and rises up.

But it’s not the end. 

It’s never the end. 

Everything is so contradictory, all the time, and the contradictions are what make Regulus.

Regulus is born in the empty space where there is no logic.

He is of negative income, lead balloons, loud silences, small big spaces, solitary togetherness, tragic comedies, definite maybes, larger and smaller halfs, constant variables, even odds.

He is the living dead.

He is of unequal equality, chaos theory, truthful liars, the dead grandfather from time travel that never really was, Achilles and the tortoise that he will never catch up to, dividing by zero.

Regulus is of oxymorons and paradoxes.

* * *

He is eleven, and the hat shouts out “Slytherin!”

No one is surprised, but Sirius doesn’t hide the look of disappointment on his face when Regulus walks over to the Slytherin table. 

“No matter what house you’re in, nothing will change between us,” Sirius promises after Regulus asks if Sirius will hate him if he’s in Slytherin.

It’s a lie, and Regulus wonders when Sirius realises that.

He is six, he is three, he is seven, he is seventeen, he is eleven, he is thirteen, he is twelve, he is fifteen, he is eighteen, he is gone.

He knows it is a lie before Sirius says it. 

* * *

“Master Regulus has always been special,” Kreacher says, adding another drawing to the expanding book, “full of magic, a good heir to the House of Black.”

Kreacher says nothing about how in the picture, Regulus looks so much older and his face is twisted in pain as he drinks from a goblet.

* * *

Sirius yells as soon as their parents leave the room. 

“I!”

Crash.

“Hate!” 

Crash.

“Them!”

Crash.

Regulus, despite knowing about the noise, flinches every single time a plate hits the floor.

Again and again, the crashes ring.

Regulus knows that instead of plates, Sirius is imagining them. Their parents. Their family.

In this moment, in every moment, he hates Sirius for tearing their family apart like this. It stings, how little Sirius cares. If he just tried for once instead of trying to make their parents mad—

In every moment, Regulus hates himself for hating Sirius for this. It’s not like Sirius is trying to do this, but why can’t Sirius listen? Why can’t Sirius just go along with it for a little while?

The real question, Regulus thinks, is who he hates more: Sirius or himself.

He doesn’t know the answer.

Sirius is just doing what they’re all doing in the family. In trying to stand out, Sirius is just managing to fit in more. He’s grabbing at what semblance of control he can get. Rebelling in every way he can. 

They’re all rebelling, in one way or another. Regulus is seeing every moment and the parallels are so strong, but so invisible to almost everyone. 

He doesn’t have control. Or maybe he does, but Regulus doesn’t know that. He doesn’t have a solid grip on reality, he doesn’t know where he is, he doesn’t know when he is.

He’s going to need to get an idea of his surroundings before he tries to influence them.

As if he knows where he is.

He’s trapped and he knows where both ends of the tunnel are, but he also knows they’re sealed.

He is gone. He is eleven and watching Sirius throw his mother’s favourite china on the kitchen floor. He is here, and wherever here is, whenever here is, but he is also in so many places. So many times.

_(Who does he hate more: Sirius or himself?)_

* * *

He is thirteen and he writes letters.

He writes to his mother, Kreacher, and other relatives, acquaintances, and friends. He wants them to care, so he writes.

He writes to Sirius. He writes everything to Sirius. The letters pile up until there’s no space and he casts an undetectable expansion charm on one envelope, addresses it to a place that Sirius doesn’t live in yet, and puts the letters in there. 

The book of drawings has a copy, and he puts it in there too.

_Maybe,_ he thinks, _the unknown will actually work out in my favor. _

Once, he tells Sirius that he can see, but Sirius didn’t understand. He can’t understand. 

The only one to understand, to understand what it means to see, is the girl. 

He has the conversation with her again and again and always. One of the few moments where he is never alone, but it lasts five minutes.

There’s so much to write about, and he doesn’t think he can finish but he knows he can because he is finished.

Everyone gets a letter.

* * *

The dark mark, surprisingly, does not burn when it is placed onto his skin. He does not flinch, scream, or make any motion that results from pain. 

He’s not surprised, but the Dark Lord seems to be.

The mark just feels like another piece is him sliding into place. A tattoo on his arm, but with magical communication methods. 

The magical communication methods probably also include the ability for the Dark Lord to torture anyone who has it long distance, but Regulus knows that doesn’t happen to him.

He hates it, but he feels connected.

He is hugged by Sirius, he is so young. 

He is eighteen, he feels so old.

He is not, but he is.

_(Sirius glares at her, and says “Reggie isn’t strange, he’s perfect.”_

_It's a lie, Regulus knows. He knows it like he knows that Sirius will hate him, and wonder how he ever thought such as ridiculous thought as Regulus being perfect.)_

He is more connected to this present moment, and he thinks, just possibly, maybe he knows where he is. He could be here, Dark Lord in front of him, around fifteen years old.

He could have the mark on his skin right now, connecting him to the rest of his family.

His family who he is betraying, but it’s his choice.

Sirius rebels so differently from Regulus, it looks almost as if Regulus isn’t rebelling at all but he is. He is gone and there is a locket in Kreacher’s possession and Kreacher will destroy it.

It’s not that Regulus enjoys being a death eater, enjoys being told to become a death eater, enjoys becoming a death eater. 

The Dark Lord looks surprised.

Regulus thinks he might be truly in the moment at every moment.

It’s all so real, and it crashes at him from all sides. 

_(What’s the catalyst? Why?)_

The Mark does not hurt, but that’s probably because Regulus doesn’t think he can feel pain from a power as meager as the Dark Lord.

He does not know.

* * *

At fourteen, Sirius invests in the power of lalochezia, which is to say he curses as much as possible in front of their parents. 

It’s a difficult summer.

Regulus, in an attempt at reconciliation, listens to Sirius talk about a ragamuffin werewolf (of course, Sirius doesn’t talk about how Remus wears rags or is a werewolf) for hours, about his new friend, James, and Peter, who is shy and quiet but loyal. 

He listens to Sirius talk about how much he hates the family Regulus is a part of, how all Slytherins turn out evil in the end, and by the end of it, by the beginning, Regulus is completely aware of how much Sirius hates him for not hating their parents.

Sirius, at fourteen, does not hate Regulus directly but he will. He does.

* * *

“I know every detail of every second of my life that I will experience,” Regulus explains.

“How does that lead to,” the girl gestures ay Regulus in general, as if she is trying to convey his whole existence in a single gesture, “you?”

“You know what’s already happened to you, right? And you have an idea of what hasn’t happened to you because you don’t know exactly what happens to you in the future?”

“Yes,” the girl nods along with the action, like she’s trying to reinforce the idea of how much she agrees with what he just said. Or maybe she’s just curious.

“So, knowing everything takes away the limited perspective, and without the limited perspective, I don’t know where I am.”

“Right.”

“Without knowing where I am, something makes me experience every single moment of my life all of the time.”

“My daughter’s name is going to be Luna,” she tells him. “Her name is Luna Lovegood and she’s amazing.”

“I know,” he tells her.

* * *

Regulus likes words. They can be manipulated and connotated, a combination of letters allowing for communication beyond what body language can express. The more words he knows, the more he feels he can control. His power comes from his ability to make connections as the heir of the House of Black.

He names his magic, the one that keeps him here, nowhere, and everywhere, the one that gives him the knowledge.

He names it Hypermnesia.

Meaning: having an abnormally vivid and complete memory. 

He feels that he gains some control over the uncontrollable now he has given it a name.

* * *

He’s too tired to apparate, or at least that’s what he tells himself as he waits for the Knight Bus. 

As he sits on the bench, cold and exhausted, and waits. He’s always waiting, in one way or another. Regulus looks up exactly on time to see the drunk figure stumbling towards him. 

(He’s always exactly on time.)

There’s a strange sort of look in his eyes. The person to which the eyes belong is looking out, eyes glazed and mostly oblivious to what’s in front of him. 

Regulus moves to the side as the muggle sits down. 

There is silence here, in this moment. 

_It lies._

“Do you ever wonder?” The muggle asks the sky his question, but Regulus answers it anyway.

“Wonder what?” Regulus asks, but he already knows. He always knows. 

“What if this is all like… a trip or something and you’re actually just sitting in a back alley with your mates? What if none of it is real?”

Regulus looks over, and stares into the eyes that are seeing more than what’s right in front of them. Eyes looking into the impossible, staring at what's not really there.

(Does Regulus look like that?)

“I don’t know,” Regulus responds quietly, “I don’t know.”

* * *

There is a person in his family (multiple people, actually) who is guilty of defalcation and he watches them get their name burnt off the family tree again and again, and he wonders if it’s the loyalty or the lack of it that makes him feel sick.

His once vulpine third cousin wasn’t cunning enough. In order to survive, sometimes being a morosoph is the safest option.

It’s what Regulus does, or at least tries to do, and he is under no suspicion.

Burning bright and bold can be a death sentence.

* * *

He is twelve and thinks the best thing about Hogwarts is the room of requirement.

Time can be frozen in there, and Regulus moves at a pace separately from the world, but this time it’s not just knowing, they’re actually moving along time slower than him.

It’s kind of nice.

He spends hours drawing and studying in the room.

* * *

What scares him more than anything, really, is what he doesn’t know he does not know.

What he is missing, trapped in a limited timeline.

_Does Kreacher even destroy the locket?_

* * *

He is fifteen, and there is a handprint on his face, but it’s covered in concealer as he walks down the hall.

Not a glamour, but muggle makeup, his own small rebellion.

Intent is important in magic, and the person holding the wand was angry and the healing charm reacted by making sure the handprint stays there for a month.

It is the only time Regulus is ever slapped.

As soon as Sirius seems Regulus walking towards him, he walks away as his friends, his new family, turn around to walk towards Regulus.

“Go away,” James says to him, “can’t you see Sirius doesn’t what you here.”

“Leave,” Remus growls at him.

“Ms. Evans,” Regulus asks, “can you give me a makeup wipe?”

He knows she carries them with her and he knows she’ll agree and he knows about the split second of surprise that flashes across her face when he asks her and he knows so much, too much.

Knowledge, in the area of the future, can be a terrible thing that is better to be unknown but Regulus doesn’t have a choice so he moves forward and replays and moves back and lives and dies with his script memorised. 

She hands him the makeup wipe and he thanks her, he wipes the concealer off his face. 

James, for a moment, looks like he’s going to be sick. 

“Tell Sirius that he is considered a blood traitor in the close circles of the black family but in order to avoid scandal, his new status has not been made public.”

“Who did that to you?” Remus asks, will ask, asked, always with shock and in a whisper.

“Does it even matter?” Regulus asks, “I’m the heir to the Black family now. I just needed you to listen, and I knew you would if you saw me with my mother’s handprint on my face.”

They continue to stare at him. 

“Ask Sirius, I’m destined to be a death eater. There’s no point. Sirius left, and good for him. Abandonment can probably be justified in his mind.”

The words are petty, because of course Sirius wanted out, and of course he wouldn’t think Regulus, the perfect son, wants out too.

Regulus wonders if part of why Kreacher didn’t like Sirius was because he knew how easily Sirius leaves Regulus behind.

Regulus isn’t surprised.

He is six, he is three, he is seven, he is seventeen, he is eleven, he is thirteen, he is twelve, he is fifteen, he is eighteen, he is gone.

He should be over it, but he isn’t. 

No matter how much he knows, he still says he misses Sirius on breakfast the day before winter break is over.

Some things deserve to be said.

* * *

“You can see it, can’t you?” A blonde girl asks. 

Regulus doesn’t know her name but hears one of the older Slytherins say she’s dating someone from the Lovegood family.

He looks at her, and nods. “Yes, I can see it.”

Neither of them say what they’re talking about, but they both know. 

They both see it.

“I’m dead,” the girl says, “in front of my daughter who has not yet been born, and won’t be born for a while.”

“I’m dead at eighteen,” Regulus says, and it’s nice. To say the words to someone who understands.

“I don’t think I see as much as you do” the girl tells him, “what’s it like?”

“Miserable,” Regulus tells her, “but at the same time, it’s all I know. Living every moment and at every moment. At least, with some lack of knowledge, you known where you are.”

He wishes he can know what tense he is in, other than present. He is so tired and he is always tired and he doesn’t know when it started or when it stops.

It won’t stop when he’s gone because he is gone and he is sixteen and he is four and he is here, unrelentingly trying to move forward without knowing where he is. 

It’s a video game, and he has to get the car to the finish line and he can see the whole racetrack but he can’t see the car and he’s waiting and waiting and the car is somewhere but for all he knows the start has barely begun.

“I suppose you’re right,” the girl says, “it’s nice to have an idea of where I am.”

* * *

He sees so much, he sees all of his life, but he doesn’t see the catalyst. 

There is the blood of one seer in the Black House records, but there is nothing that would make him the one to be what he is. 

The seer’s blood is mostly faded by now, but something made it react with him.

He doesn’t find out what it is.

* * *

He is eighteen and tending to Kreacher’s wounds. 

He is calm, as he moves his wand, but the worst part is that both he and Kreacher know that Regulus knows.

It is the third time that The Project is mentioned.

At least, in Kreacher’s timeline.

Some things are not meant to be spoken about, but they are. 

He is six, he is three, he is seven, he is seventeen, he is eleven, he is thirteen, he is twelve, he is fifteen, he is eighteen, he is gone.

He knows.

He knows and he lets Kreacher get hurt and Kreacher goes without complaint despite seeing the drawings.

Kreacher sees the drawings of himself in bandages after going to assist the Dark Lord at the request of the Black family and Regulus does nothing to stop it. 

Instead, he nods along and says something about how it is an honor of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black to assist their lord. Regulus feels disgusted with himself. 

* * *

The wind blows softly outside of the cave. Regulus is eighteen and so close to being gone.

So close. 

But he’s three and they love him. But he is seven but his drawings look like they’re from someone much older and much younger and someone his age. 

He’s eighteen and so close to being gone.

He is a newborn child. 

* * *

Regulus is dextrosinistral, and Sirius isn’t. 

“Those of us that don’t read a dictionary for fun don’t know what that means,” Sirius complains. 

“I learned how to write with my right hand and you didn’t,” Regulus informs him.

They’re both naturally left-handed but Regulus taught himself how to hide it, and Sirius stubbornly refuses.

“That’s stupid,” Sirius stubbornly complains, “why would I want to write with my right hand?”

* * *

“It’s odd, don’t you think?”

“What is?”

“Reggie, my darling child, doesn’t cry loudly like Sirius did. He’s so quiet.”

“Did you ask the healers?”

“Yes, and they said he was fine. It's just odd, isn’t it?”

* * *

“I miss Sirius,” Regulus says.

He gets slapped by his mother but what he thinks about is how he almost drops his croissant. 

* * *

“Why doesn’t the Dark Lord take Kreacher then, if he needs a house elf,” his mother tells him. Not asks, tells. 

Regulus nods.

* * *

“Kreacher, I need you to copy the locket.”

* * *

“Why did you tell Bella that you can beat her in a duel?”

“I can, and it’s good that she knows that,”

“You’re evelen, and she's sixteen. Don’t be stupid.”

“I could beat you.”

“I actually know useful spells.”

“And yet, I can see _everything_.”

* * *

He sits in the library, reading. Across from him is Severus Snape.

Those from broken households, bad decisions, and with reasonably angry Gryffindors should join together, after all.

Severus is quiet and calm.

He’s brilliant too, based off of what Regulus sees of his potion improvements and new spells. 

He might be a better potions teacher than Slughorn, even if he would most likely be strongly biased.

Well, it isn’t like Slughorn isn’t biased as well. 

Severus would probably be cruel, demanding, and unfair at times, the way Professor Binns is boring to most, keeping the same tone of voice constantly, droning on about subjects most students don’t care about.

They both would have so much to teach, if a student was willing to look past what they appeared to be.

Professor Binns knows when students are asleep or messing around in his class. He puts those that do in the back, and those that listen in the front. There’s a silencing charm placed so the noise made by those who don’t pay attention doesn’t bother those who do.

Regulus, second year, asks him about it.

The man has so much knowledge and knows more about history than most, with death allowing him to work harder than ever before when he’s not teaching. 

One of the best things about being a ghost, Professor Binns tells him, is not needing to sleep, eat, or rest. 

“It’s definitely something many of my friends in academia are jealous of,” Professor Binns laughs.

Laughs. Laughed. Will laugh.

The use of tenses in the English language is difficult, but not because of the concept.

Regulus just doesn’t know which one to use.

He sits across from Severus and enjoys the silence, he talks to Professor Binns, he eats at the Slug Club, he gets glared at by Sirius, he gets hugged by Sirius.

Regulus looks up at Severus and smiles, and Severus sees it.

Severus looks confused for a moment, and Regulus thinks about how Severus isn’t used to people smiling at him, and people aren’t used to Regulus smiling.

Regulus is being slapped, he is being comforted, dragged down into the murky waters to his death, tortured, comforted, ignored.

“Are you aware,” Regulus asks, “that group of bowtruckles is called a branch?”

He knows Severus doesn’t, because this moment isn’t new to him. No moments are new to him. 

* * *

Regulus is gone, dragged into the water by Inferi and drowned.

_(He is three and they love him. It’s enough.)_

R.A.B. leaves a note and a locket.

_(It’s laughable, so Regulus laughs.)_

Regulus Arcturus Black is.

_(“Master Regulus has always been special,” Kreacher says.)_

He is gone, he is eighteen, he is fifteen, he is twelve, he is thirteen, he is eleven, he is seventeen, he is seven, he is three, he is six.

_(“Go away,” James says to him, “can’t you see Sirius doesn’t what you here.”)_

He is every age between his start and finish and he is his finish.

_(“You can see it, can’t you?” A blonde girl asks.)_

It’s all knowledge, in the end. 

_(He is eleven, and the hat shouts out “Slytherin!”)_

He’s just aware, that’s the thing. This isn’t time travel, it’s not anything but knowing. 

_(“Disappointment to the family!”)_

It’s the knowing that traps in him a cruel, unrelenting present.

_(“Regulus is such a nice boy, but his eyes are so old.”)_

It’s his knowledge that keeps him trapped. Maybe he’s not trapped, though. Maybe he’s moving forward. 

_(“James is more of a brother to me than your murderous self.”)_

* * *

He is nine, he is sixteen, he is two, he is not even a year old yet, he is eight, he is thirteen, he is seven, he is gone, he is four, he is fourteen.

Again, and again, and never, and always. 

He is gone. 

He takes a breath.

* * *

He is nine—

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to explain the whole concept through Regulus but at the same time I feel like it’s still confusing so I’m going to try to explain it some more.
> 
> So, he's aware of every moment of his life and he doesn't know how he has all of this knowledge but he has it anyways. All of the things he knows are flashing through his head constantly so it feels like he's constantly living them (which is why Regulus feels trapped in the present tense). The thing is, he doesn't know whate age he actually is, so he is everything at once. His death is inculded in the everything that he is. He's already dead (but at the same time, alive) and what he wants is to get out of the state of being that he's in (unable to have a past tense becuase as far as he knows, every moment is his present tense) and to move forward.
> 
> It's sort of like how Schrödinger's cat is both dead and alive but not really because there are more than two possible outcomes.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Boy With A Kaleidoscope Mind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24142942) by [theandrogynousdragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theandrogynousdragon/pseuds/theandrogynousdragon)


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